To Destroy » Dramione

|07.| Obliviate

Draco lay in bed, his thoughts full of how cowardly he was acting. Just because her scars hurt her as well, he told himself, doesn't mean she deserves to get off as easily as she did. You're hurting, too, you pompous arse. However, these thoughts made him feel selfish, and it seemed as if nothing he thought of was right. It seemed as if nothing he did was right. Maybe — just maybe — he, himself, wasn't right. Pureblood or not, maybe it wasn't meant to be. After all, was life for everyone?

He closed his eyes, trying to get rid of those thoughts. Of course he was supposed to be here. He was here to avenge the Dark Lord, he was here to finish a job that was left undone. He was here to make his mark instead of having other's mark him. His arm was a good reminder of that.

Narcissa knew something was different when he came home. It was the shameful face he had, and the look in his eyes, that told her her boy was still there. She knew Hermione must have saw him — she just had too — for who else would cause him to break down so much? At least he was showing emotion, it was more than he had shown in such a long time. She just wanted her son back, and she hoped Draco would once again be the boy she knew, instead of the man she didn't. He was so much more like his father than he had thought, so much more like his father than he had ever hoped. He wanted to be his own person, a strong wizard that many people would fear, however, he was just a cowardly Malfoy, one that reminded people of Lucius.

Draco didn't know that people thought of him as another Lucius, for his mind was so full of continuing his role as a Death Eater, that nothing else seemed to matter. Not the loss of sleep, the hurt his mother had, the pain Granger was clearly going through, and the fact he was on the Daily Prophet's front page, Rita Skeeter back at writing gossip and lies, all about how he was asking around for Hermione Granger. That was something he was to find out in the morning, but for now as he lay in bed, all he could think of was the mark on his arm, and how Voldemort would never be a coward like he was. No, if Voldemort wanted to kill, he'd just kill. Scars or not, he didn't care. So, why do I? Draco thought to himself, before almost wanting to laugh. You don't care, you just don't want to be reminded of the war, and that's what Granger does...reminds you of the war.

Yes, this was the reason as to why he hadn't yet killed her, all the more giving him another reason to kill her. "If I end her, I no longer will have to be reminded," he whispered aloud, before a grim smile overcame his lips. "Yes, ending her is the end to my problems." With this, he fell asleep, dreaming of a bright green flash, and broken brown eyes.

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In the morning — despite how well he had actually slept — Draco was beyond furious. "What's the meaning of this?" He sneered, as he threw the newspaper down onto the dinner table, his parents jumping slightly from their son slamming the paper down in front of their breakfast. "Did any of you see this?" He asked them, his breath wild from rage.

On the front page of the Daily Prophet, was the heading Former Death Eater, Draco Malfoy, Stumbles Through Diagon Alley Looking for Hermione Granger. Is There a Forbidden Romance Blooming? The article — of course — was written by no other, than Rita Skeeter, and showed a picture of Draco Malfoy, drunk and stumbling through Diagon Alley.

"I'm sure the whole wizarding world has seen it," Lucius informed his son, trying not to anger Draco too much — for Draco had been unpredictable — but also not caring. It was no one else's fault that Rita Skeeter was writing about Draco, apart from Draco's own fault.

"What?" Draco gasped, that not being at all what he wanted to hear.

He snatched the paper off the table before walking outside into the cool morning air. Tossing the paper into the air, he pulled out his wand quickly, and pointed it at the newspaper full of lies. "Confringo!" He shouted, before the flame hit the Daily Prophet and erupted into an explosion. However, the flame was not very far away from him, resulting in a few patches of fire to blaze onto his arm. This was easily fixed by giving his arm a swift pat — which he did — before walking back into the house, his parents pretending as if they didn't hear him destroy the newspaper. "Somebody should have murdered her during the war," Draco half shouted. "Bunch of lies, I'd like to burn her," he ranted to his parents before he ate his breakfast with a fuming temper, his arm starting to hurt slightly from the burn.